Pages

Wednesday, February 27, 2013

So, a Facebook status
I posted a couple of days ago appears to have had an interesting effect on some
people. Given there were no names mentioned in said update, just a general
statement, it becomes very clear that once again, guilt is a strange mistress. And
while Guilt is a strange mistress, her sister Karma is a downright bitch, and
as many people are fond of noting, she doesn’t miss a thing. Which means your
antics are making for an interesting payback somewhere along the way, doesn’t
it?

For those of you who
missed this on Facebook, or don’t have pages there, the post was this:

Ok, here's the deal for some
of the more socially inept out there, and I suspect you'll recognize yourself
when/if you take a moment to read this.

1. If you block me, you can't
see me, so when you attempt to put your lying and deluded asses in my
promotional groups to push your books, you can't see that I'm the admin there–which
means when you post, or ask to join, I DO see you–and you really are not going to use
my hard work to promote yourself after you've spread shit and lies to everyone
and anyone who will listen, and betrayed my trust and those of the people I
work with–so guess what? You'll be accepted for one minute, then I will remove
you and your fucking book promos and ban your ignorant ass. Are you hearing me
on this? I've been doing it a lot the past couple of weeks as people from one
particular publishing house try to use legit groups, run by authors and other
publishers, to promote themselves.

2.
LOTS and lots of screen caps are circulating, so yes, many of us know what is
being said, or has been said, and who is saying it–so STOP the lying bullshit,
please. I haven't got time for it, and when I say leave me alone, I do mean it.
I have no more time for your paranoid delusions. I am making this public so
everyone can see it, and I hope the right people know that I'm well aware of
not only what has been said, but who's done the dirty - now and in the past.

Thank
you – end of public address.

There are 70+ comments on this post–ALL of them supportive, outraged, disgusted, and generally disdainful of
the people who have been exhibiting this wholly unprofessional and shit
ignorant behaviour. On Monday night, after the correct party did see this post,
a message was sent to one of my best friends–a woman who has NOTHING to do with
this situation at all. She is still puzzled as to what she was expected to do
or say in response, since this is not her concern. So, to the person who sent
that message, I have one statement – Back the fuck off, because she is not part
of your shit! Since no names were mentioned here, and you’re in a panic, it’s
quite obvious you know you’re guilty of doing exactly as I’ve stated.

I wrote this blog twice before
this one, and I decided the angry rant I began with would really serve no
purpose except to make me look as unprofessional and inane as this so-called
publisher and its authors. So we’ll approach this from the stand of someone
who’s been in this business awhile and observes the proper rules of business
and publishing etiquette that clearly escapes you and your people entirely.

First, the rules of FB allow you
to block people who are a pain in the ass to you, for whatever reason. If that
reason is as simple as you not being able to get your own way, or fear of lies
being exposed, then block away. But, as I stated, you then lose the ability to
see the administrators of the groups you’re attempting to use to promote your
books. (We’ll use that term loosely and with great indifference, believe me.)
Most people in the public domain refrain from such things as blocks and tirades
against individuals because the truth is, it’s bad for business. Learn that if
you want to be taken seriously. A real writer embraces the public and is
grateful for their interest, they do not attack, block, or generally dismiss the
people who might buy their work. They also do NOT attack, misuse, and generally
walk all over their more established peers.

Apart from all the basic and
essential things that go with writing and publishing, little things like decent
editing and proper grammatical sentences, you might also consider that readers
are not total morons. New “authors” as a rule do not get 5 star ratings across
the board, it makes real readers suspicious. Nor is it good form to attack
anyone who does give an honest review. So, another rule to consider: learn to
say thank you for ANY review, and be gracious about it, good or bad, because
that will speak much louder than your rantings and ravings ever will. Readers
dismiss gushing reviews, and pay attention to the ones that really do point out
a story’s weaknesses or problems. Known fact. Take it or leave it.

You really are only as acceptable
and professional as your actions. Which pretty much lets out the people
associated with a press that engages in the activities this one does. Trying to
rig polls, pushing your way into the promotional groups of established
companies, and slandering and attacking anyone who won’t accept being shit all
over really does show you up for the delusional asses you all are. Whining
about losing readers once you’ve blocked and verbally abused them is a bit
counter-productive too, isn’t it? Instead of engaging in attacks and abuse, why
not actually learn the craft you think you’re part of just now? If every one of
your books sold a million copies, it still wouldn’t make you a success because
you have no idea how to behave like a professional anyway. Respect and success are earned - they are NOT bullied, cheated, stolen, or given on demand, no matter how much some people think otherwise.

In conclusion, because I am bored
with this now, I’d like to make a suggestion, which of course will be labeled
an attack and lead to more insanity, I’m aware. First, grow-the-fuck-up and get
your deluded asses out of the haze of bullshit you’re enveloped in. The truth
is, no one gives a damn. Secondly, stop using the work of other authors and
their publishers to try to take the fast track to respectability. Your actions
will determine how respectable you are–which pretty much means you’re fucked
now, doesn’t it? Lastly, and this is the one you really need to pay attention
to–stay away from me, and out of my business, because I can and will begin
posting lists, and screen-capped conversations for the world to see. I will also
name the names in my possession–believe me those lists are extensive. Push me
and I will push back–as you witnessed a year ago.

You panicked because you know I
don’t make idle statements or declarations, I can and will back-up what I say. If you weren’t
relying on deceit and fear to walk all over people, you’d have nothing to be afraid of,
but like anything else that involves ethical behaviour or real integrity–that’s
a concept more alien than little green men from Mars.

Friday, February 8, 2013

Welcome to the 10th stop in Donna
Michael’s Book Tour for Captive Hero.
She has two great prizes she’s offering up on this blog tour. After you
read about her book, stop by the bottom of this tour stop to find out how you
can win
a free download of any of Donna’s backlist, plus a $15 Amazon Gift Card!

Test
flying an invisible plane—unreal

Time-shifting
to WWII—unbelievable

Capturing
a hero—unavoidable.

When
Marine Corps test pilot, Captain Samantha Sheppard accidentally flies back in
time and inadvertently saves the life of a WWII VMF Black Sheep pilot, she
changes history and makes a crack decision to abduct him back to the present.
With the timeline in jeopardy, she hides the handsome pilot at her secluded
cabin in the Colorado wilderness.

But convincing her sexy, stubborn captive that
he is now in another century proves harder than she anticipated—and soon it
becomes difficult to tell who is captor and who is captive when the more he
learns about the future, the more Sam discovers about the past, and the
soul-deep connection between them.

As their flames of desire burn into overdrive,
her flying Ace makes a historical discovery that threatens her family’s very
existence. Sam’s fears are taken to new heights when she realizes the only way
to fix the time-line is to sacrifice her captive hero...or is it?

Can love truly survive the test of time?

Excerpt:

What the hell was he
holding? A slingshot?

A very expensive, sexy
slingshot. No, Mitch’s mind insisted. It was underwear. Samantha had a
matching top. His gaze shot to the purple bra. The skimpy scrap of satin had to
be underwear. Fuck me. His mind instantly conjured up a vision of the
temptress wearing the decadent scraps. His groin dutifully hardened.

Damn, sexy spy.

Spy…

His gaze sought the
purple satin in his hand again. Son-of-a-bitch! Maybe it was both. Underwear
which doubled as a weapon. A small shaft of admiration broke through his haze.
Ingenious.

“Um, if you’re done
inventorying my bag, I’d like my clothes now.”

He dropped the slingshot
at the same time his gaze ricocheted to the towel-wrapped agent dripping in the
bathroom doorway.

Holy mother of God.

She was naked. Thanks to
him.

In a towel. Thanks to
him.

Dripping in the doorway.
Thanks to him.

Try as he might, Mitch
couldn’t get his mind past those facts. The same thoughts shot through his head
over and over again. Probably because the sight of the sexy vixen sent all the
blood rushing to his groin—where it now throbbed with painful precision.

Damn. She was pin-up
worthy. The fierce urge to nibble, stroke, and lick had him squirming in his
seat. That…and his zipper bit unmercifully into his swollen dick.

“Well, Captain?”

He blinked and attempted
to focus on her face. Nothing doing. What a pair of gams. His gaze stayed glued
to the legs he had known would be a sin to cover. Long and lean, curvy and supple,
they gleamed under the glow of the fire since the sun had set. I should be
the only thing allowed to cover those beauties.

Shit. Where the hell had
that thought come from?

“Yo? Captain? Earth to
captain? My eyes are up here.”

He heard her words,
followed by a clicking noise. Mitch blinked again, and realized the woman was
not only snapping her fingers, she was smiling.

“That’s better,” she
said. “So, can I have my clothes back?”

“No.”

Hah! That wiped the
smile from her smug face. Shit. Wait. Now she was striding closer, green gaze
glistening like twin emeralds, a bounce rippling through gorgeous, full
breasts, despite the tightly wrapped towel.

“No?”

Heaven help him, she
grabbed the edge of the table and leaned closer. His mind went blank. What a
view! Her delectable cleavage and all that silky skin filled his horizon. She
was flawless, supple and he wanted desperately to explore.

“What do you mean, no?”

Yes…

“Captain!”

He jumped, and
reluctantly ripped his gaze from her mind-drugging curves. “What?”

“I want my clothes. Now.”

She reached for a pile.
But he was quicker. He grabbed her wrist, and a damn fission shot through his
body again. What the hell? She yanked free and stepped back.

Ignoring the pounding in
his veins—and both heads—he slowly rose to his feet, positioning himself
between her and the table. Hell if he’d allow her to take anything until he
knew it was safe.

“I’m not done yet.”

“Oh, for crying out
loud.” She groaned. “It’s just my clothes.”

His brows shot up. “Really?”
He reached behind him for the strange little packet of pills he’d found. “Then
where the hell do you wear these?”

A small smile tugged at
her lips, and son-of-a-bitch, a spot of color seeped into her cheeks. She was
blushing. Why was she blushing? Spies don’t blush. Do they?

“You don’t wear them.
Y-you take them.”

He waved the packet. “No
shit.” What did she think, he was an idiot? His heart hammered and he wondered
just what she’d planned on doing with the pills. He stared hard at his blushing
abductor, but spoke soft. “You plan on drugging me, Samantha?”

Amusement flittered
through her remarkable eyes. “No. Not unless you’ve grown a pair of ovaries.”

There wasn’t anything
funny about…Wait? Ovaries? He glanced at the pills.

Birth control what? He held the
pills out of her reach and frowned down. “Control birth?” Shit. “Are you
pregnant?” Cripes, he hoped not. Not after the way he manhandled her today.

“No!” She shook her
head, her shoulders rounding in exasperation. “I’m not pregnant. The pills prevent
pregnancy.”

Was that even possible?
Maybe. He wouldn’t put anything past the Germans.

He folded his arms
across his chest, his body heating before he even got the words out. “So, you are
planning to seduce me.”

“What? Oh for the love
of…” Her mouth clamped shut, eyes glittered and body stiffened. “If you must
know, I need the hormone therapy to help with cysts. I have to take one pill a
day at the same time every day, and I’ll need one first thing in the morning.
Now, give me my damn pills!”

Before he could react,
she lunged for the packet and gripped the bottom edge. Damn, she was fast. He pulled
while she tugged, and he tried desperately to ignore the soft curves brushing
his body or the mouthful of wet hair tickling his face. God, she
smells great. More vanilla. He inhaled and a layer of warmth increased the
heat already throbbing inside. Touching her was out of the question. He’d just
have to keep twisting and lifting.

Several more seconds of
sweet torture and he finally got the upper hand. Success. He ripped the pills
from her grasp.

“Dammit, Captain,” she
growled, her warm breath hitting his chin.

Didn’t the woman know
how to give up? Apparently not. She continued her delicious assault, pressing
against him, reaching, trying to crawl up his body for the damn packet. Fuck.
She was potent.

And naked.

All the struggling
loosened the towel which softly thudded on to his right foot.

“Shit!” She released him
and bent down to grab the wayward towel, brushing his throbbing body along the
way.

He went still. Very
still. He didn’t even dare to breathe. But he did look. Oh, hell yeah, he
looked.

The whole right side of
her was in his line of vision. Her smooth back and fantastic ass mesmerized,
drew him in until he became dizzy from not breathing. He closed his eyes and
gulped in air. Damn, the things he wanted to do to her. Eyes opening, he stared
at the naked beauty clutching the towel in front of her in a feeble attempt to
cover up.

Too late. He saw every
last glorious inch of the front of her body. God, she was mouthwatering.

And hairless…

How? His racing pulse
stopped for two beats, then tripped into hyper speed. She was unhindered. No
hair. Nothing. Just smooth, soft, silky…

His gaze lingered in the
barely concealed section where her hand now held the towel in place. Was it a
German thing? Hell, it didn’t matter. A strong urge to touch her and taste her,
to sink deep inside tore through his body with unrelenting force. He fought
back a groan. Fuck. He was hard enough to pound spikes into concrete.

“P-please, Mitch,” her
soft plea rattled him.

Make that railroad ties.
His dick was hard enough to pound railroad ties. With one swing. And no hands.
He dragged more air into his lungs, praying it would unfog his brain as he
slowly lifted his gaze to her face.

Captive Hero --Book One in
my Time-shift Heroes Series:is available
now at Amazon. The second book –Future
Hero will release this summer.

I
also currently have a novella out through The Wild Rose Press. Cowboy-Sexy is part of their Honky Tonk
Hearts Series, and is now available in several eBook formats. And on Amazon for KINDLE

A little bit about Donna…

Multi-published in eBook and print, I write from
short to epic, sweet to hot across several romance genres through The Wild Rose
Press, Whimsical Publications, and this book--Captive Hero marks my first foray into self publishing.

I’m married to a military man for over
twenty-six years. We have four children, several rescued cats, and live in
Northeastern Pennsylvania, where we enjoy all four seasons…although, I’d love
to enjoy summer a bit longer and winter a bit less.

NOW
ONTO THE PRIZES…

HOW
CAN YOU WIN?

READ
BELOW AND FIND OUT!

To be eligible for a free download of any of my
backlist plus a $15 Amazon Gift Card, simply sign up for my newsletter at the
bottom of my Home page, then email
me with the address you used to sign up so I can verify and then add your name
to the ‘pot’. At the end of the tour, one name will be randomly drawn and I
will email the winner.

Wednesday, February 6, 2013

Wherever they travel, there’s an
aphrodisiac waiting to whet their appetites…

Brazil…Hawaii…India….As
a food writer, Maeve has just been handed the hottest opportunity of her
career. She’s being sent on an international research tour for an aphrodisiac
cookbook. The downside is that she has to travel with rock star photographer
and womanizer Jackson Dodds. And the upside is that she has to travel with
Jackson Dodds. Because once they meet, Maeve understands why he’s been named “America’s Most
Eligible Bachelor”—and despite her best intentions, all she can think about is
putting their arousing recipes to the test…

Sexy and talented, Jackson
can have any woman he desires. But lately, the thrill is gone—until he lays
eyes on Maeve, who exudes sensuality like no one else. She’s determined to keep
things professional, but he knows the attraction is mutual. And as they travel
the world, sampling warming saffron, juicy papaya, silky avocado, rare herbs
and teas—and a mushroom whose very aroma sends women to heights of ecstasy—both
discover a hunger they’ve never known, and don’t want to resist, even amid
unexpected danger…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Excerpt:

“Here’s something interesting. In late Hellenistic Egypt, Cleopatra used
saffron in her baths so lovemaking would be more pleasurable,” Maeve
interrupted the quiet.

The word lovemaking caught his attention, swirled around in
his mind for a moment. They had called a truce of a sort. But he couldn’t help
but remember—it was just a few nights ago and she was sitting right next to
him. Her lips parted, her head tilted, deep in thought. What was she thinking?

“Hmmm,” he said, though lovemaking was really the only word
his ears picked up on.

She opened Chef’s book and leafed through its now even more
ragged pages. “Part of saffron’s magical property is the enhancement of “lust.”
Given that the medical findings show saffron as a substance capable of
affecting the neurotransmitters, perhaps saffron may in fact be an aphrodisiac.
Its ingestion is found to be a soothing relaxant capable of lowering blood
pressure and stimulating the respiration. Perhaps, it could also contain
properties that stimulate the libido and the erogenous zones. Some attest to
its sexual properties that they believe is most effective when used by women.
SB’s favorite. I assume SB was a woman.”

“I’m seeing a theme here, are you?” Jackson said.

“Yes, Chef was mostly interested in what the substances do
to women,” she said and smiled.

“It does seem that way,” he managed to say, then went back
to his computer screen. “Whoa,” he said. “Now this is interesting. The most a
man paid to have Sasha for evening? Two and a half million dollars.”

“You are kidding!”

Jackson
whistled. “I wonder what makes her worth that.”

“She is beautiful,” Maeve said.

“Not as beautiful as y—”

“Maybe she has a special trick,” she said, placing finger
quote in the air around “special trick.”

Did she just say blow job? He had to concentrate not to
cough up the water he just drank. He felt the heat rise to his face—and other
parts of him.

“What’s wrong?” she said.

“I, ah, don’t want to talk about um, you know, blow jobs
with you.”

She laughed. “Should I be insulted?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Liz Everly is a
passionate cook, writer, and traveler. Exploring food and romance in Saffron
Nights, Liz ombines her lifelong love of action-packed romance with her
culinary expertise. She loves to interact with readers. Please follow her on
Twitter @Lizeverly1, check out her website http://www.lizeverly.worpress.com.
You can also find her on Facebook and blogging at http://www.ladysmut.com.

Friday, February 1, 2013

Blurb: A haunted and abandoned hotel on Halloween is the setting for a very private party between two lovers, one of them a world-class, sophisticated intelligence operative who’s trying to teach his young and innocent lady that curiosity can sometimes take you places you’d be better not to go. Amid elaborate trappings meant to scare and entice, Rick’s seduction takes some unexpected but wickedly wonderful twists. But, Rick also has a lesson to learn, when his past collides with his present, and almost destroys everything he cherishes most.

Reckless Assignation

A Romantica® erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

The old hotel was eerie in the approaching darkness and she was finding it difficult to hold on to her resolve to do this without calling Rick. There’d been a weird message on the machine when she got home—something about discovering a secret she needed to know. The voice had sounded slightly familiar, although she couldn’t quite pinpoint why. There’d also been just enough mystery in the vague words to arouse her interest. The entire situation—the call and her coming here to this deserted hotel—reminded her of something she’d heard of once, but her efforts to pull it from memory hadn’t been remotely successful.

She should know better than this.

She couldn’t escape the twinge of conscience that reminded her how often she played out of her league. When her father had retired from the Agency and started his own private investigation business, he’d thought his daughter would be safe from the ghosts of his violent past. More than once, though, Cinthya had paid for the deeds and decisions of Joshua Bradley’s previous career. This could well be another such setup, and here she was walking right into it. All she had in the way of consolation that she wasn’t about to get herself killed, kidnapped or worse was the deeply rooted intuition that this wasn’t what it appeared. The vague sense of familiarity she felt gave a small sense of security.

Her relationship with Rick wasn’t a point of reassurance either in the creaking darkness of the forsaken hotel. There were people who knew him and his reputation, and often it was a point of protection, but here that was irrelevant. It was with Joshua’s very reluctant blessing that his twenty-year-old daughter had stepped into a loving relationship with his business partner, the shadowy, sophisticated and lethal Rick Leighton. The ten-year age difference was only the first objection her father had voiced when Cinthya had been forced by her own conscience to open up to him—conscience and the undeniable need to share her happiness with the other important person in her life.

Rick’s recent decision to leave Bradley’s Private Investigations and reenter the life of an active Company operative set up an entirely new array of potential dangers for Cinthya. It was a risk she was more than willing to take, but not something that lessened the worry from her father and Rick.

Cinthya couldn’t help but wonder what Rick or her dad would have to say about her accepting a cryptic message to meet an unspecified contact—alone—in an abandoned building. Was she being deliberately stupid or was she actually safe? Damn! She couldn’t decide. Instinct and good sense were at war here.

She leapt back in fright when something clingy and featherlight brushed against her face. With a cry of disgust, she batted away the filmy cobwebs and peered into the shadowy stairwell. She was on the second floor, which mean she only had one more flight to climb. Then she’d have to find room 313.

Against her will, some of the things she’d heard about this old wreck of a building began to pop into her head. Some people claimed the Mayfair Hotel was haunted, and those who lived in the area could tell endless stories about “sightings” and other mysterious events in the ancient edifice.

Another shudder ran the length of her spine when she heard skittering near her feet. Rats! The place had to be infested with rats. She glanced around, her breath still as she searched the growing darkness for the beady red eyes she was sure she’d find watching her. There was nothing staring at her from the blackness of the corners, and she sagged against the wall as she gasped for air.

God! Rick was right, I should never have stayed up all night watching horror movies.

He’d consented to sit through the original version of The Phantom of the Opera—he deemed that particular film “a classic”—but Cinthya had been on her own after that. It had been nearing daybreak when she’d finally crawled into bed—and about another thirty seconds before she flew out again, tripping in the sheets and falling flat on her face. Rick had almost fallen out of bed himself from laughing at her. His unexpected grab had gotten a much better reaction than he’d hoped for. He was still laughing when he’d left the apartment earlier this afternoon.

Cinthya dismissed from her mind the monsters and ghouls of the previous night and concentrated on locating the room where she was supposed to find her mystery caller. A sag in the weathered wood of the floor creaked in the hollow corridor. She bit her bottom lip to prevent any sound from escaping. Her hammering heartbeat gradually subsided and she felt some of the fear-induced dizziness pass. A chill rippled through her though, when she realized she was staring up at the shadowy ceiling, her gaze drawn to the vast network of cobwebs that had been woven over the years. It looked like wisps of cotton, stretched to the point of breaking, except that this thready cloak was dulled with years of dust and grime.

A distinct thud at the other end of the long hallway had her heading in that direction without taking the time to consider her actions.

She was several doors away from the room she was supposed to be looking for when she was grabbed from behind. A firm hand over her mouth cut off her scream. There was no chance to fight off her attacker and she cursed herself as she was dragged into a room and flung into a chair. She had a sense of movement, whoever had grabbed her was little more than a shadowy presence in the near-total darkness. Her hands were tied securely behind the high chair back and her feet were bound to the legs of the seat.

The room grew blacker as her panic escalated, and she tried to force her eyes to adjust by keeping them closed. She let out a gasp of protest when a blindfold was tied around her head. For a split second, the sensation of silk distracted her thoughts; the smooth feel of the material against her skin was actually soothing. Her captor chose not to gag her, but Cinthya knew it would be futile to yell anyway. She’d be considered one of the hotel ghosts, if anyone heard her at all—not much of a chance in this neighborhood.

“What’s going on? Who are you?” That was brilliant! she chided herself.

There was no reply and she strained to identify the sound as she caught the distinct rasp of a match being struck. She could smell the hint of burning wood, then the stronger odor of lamp oil. Oh shit! Some nut was setting fire to the crumbling hotel and she was going to go down with it! She opened her mouth to speak then decided against it when she couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Pleading with whoever was doing this wouldn’t get her very far.

Visions of flames running through the old building, devouring it, began to fill her mind with genuine fear.

She felt movement more than she actually heard it, and her heartbeat threatened to deafen her when she sensed someone standing over her.

“What do you want?” She winced at theunmistakable quaver in her voice then jumped when she
felt hands on the back of the chair, close to her shoulders. She opened her
mouth again but never uttered a sound as her lips were covered with a warm,
gentle kiss.

Recognition
left her weak and shaking as she answered the thrust of her lover’s tongue. The
caress was sensual and provocative, leaving Cinthya breathless and excited when
it finally ended minutes later.

“What took you
so long, honey?” Rick whispered, his breath soft against Cinthya’s
lips.

“Take the
blindfold off and untie me,” she said, a tiny flare of irritation working into
her tone when she realized she’d walked blithely into an elaborate joke. Rick
wasn’t going to let her live this one down for some time, of that much she was
certain.